


Always Bound to Something

by JacarandaBanyan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Endgame Fix-It, Enemies to Lovers, Fix-It, I'm living for the alternate universe where Loki escapes in 2012, M/M, Magic, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Prompt Fill, Tony Stark Bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacarandaBanyan/pseuds/JacarandaBanyan
Summary: Everyone is puzzled by how to Tesseract managed to literally fall into Loki's lap, including Loki himself. His conclusion that Tony Stark must have set him free isn't quite true, but it brings the two of them together just the same. Endgame fix-it fic.





	Always Bound to Something

**Author's Note:**

> For Tony Stark Bingo Square T3: A picture of a hand holding the Tesseract

The problem was that while Loki was free of his chains, of the promise Asgardian justice, of the Other and Thanos and Odin and all the things that he had wanted to escape from, the curious man is never free. He was always bound to whatever it was that held his attention so thoroughly.

He tossed the Tesseract in his hand. He was close enough to immortal that direct contact with a Stone was no death sentence, but he kept it in its protective cube anyway. No need to damage himself unnecessarily. 

It was the strangest thing, his escape. It had all the markings of truly wild coincidence. Who could have predicted that Stark’s mechanical heart, which had been strong enough to stand up to the scepter, the Chitauri, even the void of space, would suddenly and spectacularly fail him? How could the timing of Stark’s collapse, the confrontation between Stark, the dull, insecure little men who thought they could control Thor, Thor himself, and the Hulk’s sudden, violent entry have possibly been planned? But Loki had spent many long, long years earning the title of God of Mischief. He knew better than anyone that things rarely turned so perfectly chaotic without at least a little nudge. The whole scenario smacked of meddling. Such unexpected circumstances rarely came about unaided.

But where was the intention? Not from those boring men who had insisted the Avengers hand him over. Not one element of the scenario benefitted them. They lost him and the Tesseract in one fell swoop. He certainly didn’t imagine the Hulk was capable of the sort of intricate forethought required, and rather doubted the beast wanted him to escape. 

Was it Thor, finally taking a lesson from their shared childhood? Was it Stark, a man who had already once that day proved himself to be quite willing to sacrifice himself for the bigger picture? Perhaps the guard who had held back from the initial confrontation, the one who had fumbled the suitcase. Had he been meaning to steal the Stone for his own ends, only to be surprised by the Hulk? Perhaps, but that didn’t explain Stark’s sudden heart issues. 

No, the soldier didn’t explain nearly so much of the chaos as Stark himself, and neither Stark nor the soldier had as strong a motive as his foolish, eternally forgiving brother. 

Thor or Stark? Which one had freed him, and why?

He stood. With a flick of his fingers he wove a new face over his own- something boring and forgettable and mortal. 

The Cube glowed brightly in his hand, and the air split open before him into a great, heaving, smoky maw. Somewhere through it, distorted and much closer than it could possibly be, rose the wrecked specter of Stark Tower. Loki hesitated a moment, then walked through the portal back to the site of his latest failure.

He had acquired a taste for freedom in the short time that he’d had it. It was best, then, that he free himself of this curiosity.

* * *

He stepped out of the lobby bathroom with a smile on his face. Why shouldn’t a mortal here be smiling, after all? They’d survived the invasion. Their precious heroes were victorious, and they could go back to their short little mortal lives.

The Tower was still scarred by the battle. Surprisingly, there were no work crews fixing the holes in the ground or replacing the shattered windows. At first he thought perhaps they started at the top, where the lord of the Tower himself lived, or perhaps on some other important floor, but as he snuck higher and higher he found no evidence of repairs. It gave him pause. That wasn’t right. Stark moved fast, too fast to still not have begun cleaning up his domain. He veiled himself in another layer of illusion and misdirection, then began searching for Stark himself. 

First he searched the penthouse. Perhaps Stark was merely sleeping. It wouldn’t stretch the imagination too much to think the mortal needed to rest before continuing onwards. But the private chambers were devoid of life, and the drink bar unchanged since he’d last seen it. He frowned. Not resting then, at least not here. 

He felt his lips tug up into an even deeper smile. 

So, it was to be a hunt. 

He ran one carefully trimmed nail over his left wrist, picturing the runes he was tracing. When he was younger he’d actually scratched them into his skin, but he was beyond that now. At least for spells as simple as this. 

His magic flowed lightly into the spell, already taking on the movements and quick-footedness of a hunter. His wrist glowed softly, and then an invisible twine began to tug on it like a hound on a leash. His magic slid through the pipes and corners and unused staircases of the tower, like slithering snakes searching for something to strike. He held still, letting the magic roam, feeling it tug first this way then that until at last it found his prey. Only then did he allow the invisible leash to lead him.

He found Stark in an artificially quiet room, with a glass wall separating it from the stairs. A good strategy, perhaps, if your opponents couldn’t turn invisible. 

His first glimpse of Stark startled him. The bluish glow of his machines bathed his skin in a light not unlike that of the Tesseract. He had to run a finger over the cube in his pocket to reassure himself that the Space Stone was still in his possession. 

Stark moved like a frightened bird, lunging from spot to spot, jumping at nothing, bobbing his head this way and that to look at various displays conjured by the flat instruments Midgardians seemed to favor. Dark shadows clung to his eyes, and his hair hung limp and dirty. A picture of Loki in chains flashed up briefly, followed by several other pictures. An elevator full of people, the Captain near the front. The Captain passed out in a field of broken glass. One of the men who had argued that Stark should hand over Loki in the lobby. The guard that had grabbed for the Tesseract case. The back of a man’s head as he slipped through a door. An empty set of stairs. 

“J, do a scan of the area above and around the Tower, throw up some energy readings for me when you’re done. Send it to Steve too, prove I’m actually working on finding Loki. He doesn’t seem to believe I’m committed enough.”

Ah, so they were still looking for him. Then the absence of workers made sense. Things were different now that he was free of the Mind Stone and the influence of the Other, but before regaining his mind he would have needed a cover like that to confidently enter the Tower. 

“Of course, Sir,” a voice answered, though there was no one else in the room.

Loki blinked. So, Stark had created an invisible servant without magic. How interesting. 

“If I may,” the voice continued, “It could help both you and Captain Rogers if you revealed your findings to him. At the very least he would understand why you must split your energies like this.”

Stark shook his head. 

“No, he’d freak out and give the game up. If this is what I think it is, then I can’t afford to tip anyone off that I know until everything’s ready.”

“Of course, Sir. Here are you readings, as requested.”

A Tesseract-blue screen flickered to life to Stark’s left. It looked incomprehensible to Loki, but Stark clearly saw something there. Something that troubled him. 

“Run them again to be sure, would you buddy?”

Stark’s voice was faint and cracked. When the invisible servant reported the same results, he fell onto a bench and stared at the projection with horror. 

Then he seemed to pull himself together. 

“J, don’t tell Steve why, but tell him I want him to spend the next day or so at the Avengers Compound, and under no circumstances return to the Tower or any SHIELD-owned building, and to stay on standby in case I need him. If he wants to know why, tell him it has to do with how I’m working on finding Loki.” He smiled bitterly at the a glowing blue holograms of several of the men’s faces. “It’s not even a lie, really.”

“I thought you weren’t going to include the Captain in your plans, Sir.”

“Things change, J. If there really is another super soldier popsicle in the basement, and it really is Bucky Barnes, then Steve needs to be involved.”

“Of course, Sir.”

His hands began to fly across his projections. Even though he knew Midgard had little magic, Loki found himself tasting the air for it. How else could he describe Stark’s ability to retrieve information vital to the defeat of his enemies from vast, confusing libraries? Even Loki, with his location spells and long years of familiarization, could not accomplish the same.

Stark’s methods were difficult to follow- the newer Midgardian technology was always so unintuitive- but Loki thought he could follow the thread of it. There were enemy powers posing as friends, looking to do great harm in the guise of trusted authority figures, and Stark had somehow caught them in the act during his escape. They needed to be taken out, but to do so Stark needed proof, surprise, coordination from his allies, and the rescue of a frozen old man. The last item was quite important, though Loki couldn’t understand why without more context. Whatever it was, it had something to do with the Captain.

The Man of Iron was like a force of nature, or one of the old mages that could influence the spinning of planets and the brewing of storms. From that grey, cluttered room full of strange machines he organized allies, sometimes holding three conversations at once but never letting his attention rest on one to the detriment of the others. Without ever leaving his own Tower he stole the information he needed, ripped his proof from ‘servers’ and ‘cameras’ thought secure, and located both his enemies and the frozen man. He was like a snake, striking suddenly and from unexpected, unlikely angles. Each attack was backed by strength and a delightful venom. 

By the time he called the Captain and sent him off after the frozen man, only a few scant hours had passed, but in that time Stark had ruthlessly taken out his prey. Senators, generals, men so high the arm of the law could never reach them, they all fell before him. And somehow he managed to do it by making murderers, thieves and torturers believe the Captain was  _ one of them.  _

How could he not fall for a man like that?

That thrilling competency was what decided it for him. This was the man behind the chaos that lead to his escape. He didn’t know how Stark had done it, didn’t know his motive or his goals or whether it had even worked the way he intended it to or not, but he would find out. How could he properly appreciate the man’s genius if he didn’t put the pieces together and unravel the plan? When Loki played tricks like this himself, the reveal was always one of his favorite parts. Watching someone else painstakingly pick through his words and actions until they finally found the right thread to tug on was often even more entertaining than the trick itself. 

He had never been on the other side of that scenario before. It was strange, but not in a bad way. 

Stark continued to spring quickly-laid traps on the other side of the glass. Each time he received a successful report, his entire body reacted with relief and triumph. His face reminded Loki vaguely of a cat who’d caught a mouse and was already planning to bring it back to some unlucky mortal as a gift. It made him want to sneak into the workshop himself and see it from a thousand different angles. 

Some of his curiosity might have turned to lust then, but he was too distracted to notice.

It had to be Stark who freed him. He didn’t have any proof yet, but just watching this little display of wit and power was enough to convince him.

There was a potion that he’d stumbled across in his studies of magic that might help shed light on Stark’s plans. It took time to make, and the ingredients could be a pain to come by, but once brewed it would transport whoever drank it to the location of whoever they were thinking of when the liquid hit their tongue, even if they did not know that person’s name or what they looked like. If he could brew it correctly, then all he would have to do was imagine the chaos of his escape and his desire to know who was behind it, and he’d have his answer. 

Something in him settled now that he had a plan. Freedom was wonderful, but not having a goal to work towards had been less so. He wasn’t like Thor, who could simply  _ be, _ and just let life wash over him. 

He reached into his pocket and ran a finger over the Tesseract. With just a feather-light brush of his magic, the glowing blue cube opened up a portal for him. He glanced back at Stark one last time, then stepped through and disappeared. 

* * *

He tapped the glass in front of him lightly in a pattern grown instinctual with familiarity. The glass turned wobbly, and when he stepped through it, his skin told him there was nothing there but perhaps a light mist. Once he had passed through, the glass solidified behind him, erasing any evidence of his passage.

Stark looked up from his glowing holograms and went stone-still when he saw him. Slowly, one hand moved to dismiss the projected images. Not once did Stark’s eyes leave Loki. 

Loki let a smile pull his lips up far enough to show his teeth. 

“Hello, Stark,” he said. “I see you have been busy.”

“Loki,” Stark said. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re still running around causing problems. The fact that an international Nazi cult was running my teammate’s employer was so distracting, I nearly forgot.”

One hand reached into his back pocket and pulled out two familiar bracelets. So, the suit was going to come out to play. He guessed that was to be expected, but he was rather hoping for more talking than shooting. 

“I guess I’ll just have do be a bit more  _ memorable, _ then.” He flashed his teeth at Stark, then conjured an ornate chair for himself. Little iron snakes slithered slowly through the oversized lattice work on the seat back and down the arms and legs. He sat primly, and motioned imperiously for Stark to do the same. 

“I never managed to take you up on that drink you offered. Is now a good time?”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Stark bared his teeth right back. It wasn’t a smile, not really, but it wasn’t polite to call people on such things, so Loki let it go. Besides, Stark hadn’t called his armor yet. 

“Well, here’s your second chance. What passes for good wine on Midgard? I admit, I’ve never taken the time to sample your world’s delicacies. I’m not usually drawn to worlds so lacking in magic.”

Stark walked backwards towards a large cabinet, body language open but teeth still barred. When he reached it, he opened the door blindly and picked the first bottle his fumbling hands managed to wrap themselves around. 

“You’re very confident in your collection, I see.”

“I can afford the good stuff. So, aside from the free booze, any particular reason why you’re showing your face around here again, Reindeer Games? I know time is different for Asgardians or whatever, but the city is still in ruins. It’s only been, what, five days? If you were hoping we’d forgotten about your little attempt at world domination, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Loki shrugged and conjured a delicate glass that glowed faintly green in the lab’s low lighting and offered it to Stark. 

“Oh believe me, I know. But unfortunately, I have some unresolved business here that has nothing to do with taking over your city. Too bad, otherwise I could have been all the way to Alfheim by now.”

“Too bad,” Stark agreed through gritted teeth. 

He uncorked the bottle and poured the dark red wine into Loki’s cup. It shone dully, like blood.

He waited until Stark poured some for himself- a much smaller amount, he noticed- then raised his glass as if for a toast. 

“To freedom,” he said, wicked smile still firmly in place. “Me from my tormentors and Asgardian justice, and you from this international Nazi cult, or whatever it was you found in SHIELD’s files. Magnificent theft, by the way. It’s not often you find someone who can break past a strong enemy’s defenses without so much as leaving the house.”

“Have you been in my Tower this whole time? If you’re here much longer, I’ll have to start charging you rent you know.” 

“Oh no,” Loki said with a dramatic wave of his hand. “I’ve been in and out. I have projects that require materials not found on Midgard, you see. Well, currently only one main project, but I’m sure I’ll find more ways to use my freedom soon.” 

He took a sip from his glass, then set it down on the arm of his chair. One of the decorative snakes curled around it, holding it in place so a stray gesture wouldn’t send it tumbling to the floor. 

This was such fun! Normally this was the point when some meat-brained Asgardian threw a punch or began running his mouth, but Stark did neither. Instead, he took a long drink from his glass, then asked “Okay, back up. Who are these ‘tormentors?’ If you say Thor and his friends, just know that I won’t believe you. Thor can be annoying, sure, and try and get his way with force, definitely, but you seem a little too slick for him to catch.”

“No, Thor is hardly one for tormenting,” he replied, then took a sip. How much did he want to say, and how should he say it? Family history was always such a heavy topic, after all, and this little ceasefire of theirs was fragile. 

“Does the name Thanos mean anything to you?”

* * *

When he left the workshop hours later, he left without chains or a flurry of blasts scorching his heels. A success, of sorts.

He fingered the Tesseract and opened a portal to a planet he had only ever been to in magic-induced dreams, and stepped out of the Tower. It would take more than just one meeting to get Stark to see him as anything other than an enemy, and in the meantime he had a potion to make. 

* * *

The second time he entered the workshop, Stark was waiting for him.

“I had Jarvis run a bunch of scans the last time you were here,” he says instead of a greeting. “Each time you conjured something, and when you opened a portal to leave, he gathered data. It’s not foolproof yet, but there’s enough there to alert him when you arrive. You won’t be able to sneak up on me anymore.”

“What a pity. I shall have to learn new tricks.”

Stark’s expressions are adorable. So like Thor’s in their determination and righteous condemnation, but with a much more dangerous intelligence behind it. If the man doesn’t want him to keep coming back, he should stop making such wonderful faces. That, and he should really stop designing machines specifically to catch him using magic. Loki loves an attentive, engaged audience.

“You already came by for your drink, so what is it this time?”

He smiled. Stark wasn’t wearing his bracelets this time. 

“Just stopped by to say hello, perhaps find out what came of your attacks on the faithless men who used to employ your teammates. Really, your ambush abilities are worthy of marvel, Stark.”

“Call me Tony. Mr. Stark was my father, and I’ve been making a concerted effort not to turn into him.”

“I quite understand. I don’t get along with Odin, either.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t have a hard time believing that.”

“But I am not here to talk about meddlesome old fools. What have  _ you  _ been up to, Tony?”

“Taking down the government, talking with my lawyers, trying to figure out how to get Steve to stop crying over his long lost buddy long enough to hook the guy up to an IV, revolutionizing the field of astrophysics, and looking for you,” Tony rattles off with faux-nonchalance. 

“You’ve been a busy man.”

“Want to take a load off my plate and sit still while I cuff you?” The words are light, but Tony’s eyes are hard. Something crackled to life in Loki’s chest. He wanted to keep this conversation going, wanted to stretch it out until it’s about to snap, then stretch it a little bit more just to see which way it would go. 

“Only if there’s a bed involved. And perhaps some more of that wine from the other day. Much better than I would have expected from a planet without any higher order fruits.”

He wet his lips, just letting the barest hint of tongue swipe out. Tony’s eyes chased it.  _ Yes. _

“If those are your only requirements, we might be able to work something out. I can have a bed rush ordered for the Hulk Room.”

“How considerate. Do you think your Captain would let you drink with a prisoner like me, though? He seemed a little uptight for that.” He wove an illusion spell so familiar he didn’t even need to think the words anymore. His body shimmered, and then he became Steve Rogers, icon of Goodness and Light. “Tony, you really shouldn’t drink so much. This is serious business.”

He released the spell when the corners of Tony’s mouth curled up. 

“Am I right?”

“Nah,” Tony said. The smile fell away before it could fully form. “Capsicle’s a little busy right now, actually. He’d probably send Fury or Hill in his place. And honestly, if anyone needs a drink right now it’s him.”

Tony sighed, then fell backwards into a gray chair on wheels. It rolled backwards for several feet, then crashed into a desk. 

“What are you actually here for, Rock of Ages? It’s late, everyone’s busy, and you’ve all but made it clear you’re intending to frolic off into the sunset, playing tricks and breaking Thor’s heart. So what’s got you coming back?”

_ You’re intriguing, _ he didn’t say.  _ You play with your words. You built a machine just to alert you when I dropped by. I think you’re the reason I’m free. I’m curious.  _ There were too many answers. 

Instead, he transformed himself into a cat for a heartbeat, then back again. “I’m a god, Tony. I can afford to indulge my curiosity without worrying about it getting me killed. At least, not as much as you do.”

* * *

“Hello again, Loki Doki, finally come to make more mischief?”

“Only a little.”

Stark’s smile is so sweet when it’s not a snarl. The fact that he’s smiling because of Loki just makes it even better.

* * *

He kept coming back.

His ingredients-gathering never suffered, and he only ever came when Tony was alone, but he came back. Again and again and again until he couldn’t trick himself any longer. He was just as bad as Thor, falling for a mortal. And an old one at that, already in the second half of his life. 

Tony slowly stopped mentioning the Hulk Room or asking if he was there to surrender. He stopped asking about future plans, or about Thanos and the Other. He sometimes asked about Odin and Asgard, but that was alright. Those were things from before he fell. Even if they weren’t always pleasant to think about, they were unblemished by the deep, primal fear he’d learned during his time in captivity. 

He wasn’t sure how much Tony had pieced together from what he wouldn’t say, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He was relaxed around Loki now, and didn’t greet every word with suspicion. Knowing the exact circumstances of his fall, his capture, and his torment wouldn’t be useful to anyone at this point. 

_It might,_ _though, if Thanos continues on this path. There are Infinity Stones on Earth, and one day he will come here too. And the Avengers are bound to fight him, even if they can never win._

But Tony would probably be dead by then, his lifespan being what it was. It wasn’t worth revisiting. Besides, why waste time on rehashing old hurts when he could spend it playing tricks on someone who could trick him right back? 

By the time he found the final ingredient, Tony had wormed his way firmly into his heart.

* * *

The spell was simple, once the ingredients had been retrieved. Had Loki not had the power of the Tesseract to ease his travels, he likely wouldn’t have been able to lay hands on everything he needed for at least another two hundred years. There was a reason this potion was an interesting footnote rather than a commonly employed tactic.

Slowly, he crushed two bright purple leaves and sprinkled the pieces into a vial of pulsing blue slime. Smoke began to rise, growing thicker and thicker as he added a series of small white stones collected from far flung shores in order of size, ascending. A few flecks of gold powder turned the smoke red, and several golden insect wings turned the potion itself a shiny bronze color. 

He took a moment to review the process in his head, making sure he hadn’t missed any steps, then brought the vial to his nose and inhaled the ruby-colored smoke. 

His eyes fluttered closed, allowing him to more fully concentrate on the memory of his escape and the powerful scent of Rinthalpa leaves. He played the whole scene over in his head, from his capture, through the elevator ride, the appearance of the self-important men, to Tony’s abrupt heart failure- his heart tinged in sympathy, nearly making him lose focus, and that was something he’d definitely have to come back to later- the confusion of panic and then terror when the Hulk smashed through the door, all the way up to the moment his hands closed on the Tesseract and he opened a portal to freedom. 

It was difficult to hold the memory in his head and nothing else, but he pushed forward determinedly. Even if he was sure it was Tony, even if he found that the idea of the person behind his freedom being anyone but Tony had become distasteful to him, even if his own memory of Tony’s collapse had been warped by the feelings he’d developed for the man, he couldn’t allow his own desires to color the outcome of the potion. 

At last the scent of the smoke began to lose its strength. All he had to do was look, and the chaos’s perpetrator would stand before him, wherever they were now. 

When he opened his eyes again, he stood on a battlefield full of ash and death. 

The Avengers clashed around him with Thanos and his armies, and the ground was red with blood. The Tower was nowhere to be seen, but the ruins of some large building spilled over into the battlefield. With a too-shaky swirl of his fingers he wove a shield around himself, then began to run towards Thanos. 

At first he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. How could a battlefield be the agent behind the chaos? The potion was supposed to locate a  _ person,  _ or perhaps a group of people. But then he saw the Avengers, this time in identical suits and with far more years hanging from their mortal faces than there should have been. Most importantly, he saw  _ Tony, _ looking old and pained and desperate but still fighting.

A second later fire rained down from the sky, and he disappeared from Loki’s view.

Something was wrong. The potion was clearly showing him the Avengers, but he knew where the Avengers were. Tony was in his workshop, going over HYDRA documents lifted from his enemies. The Captain, the Widow, and Barton were with the frozen man in the Tower basement, Banner should be doing his daily meditation, and Thor was still pretending to be hunting him down in Odin’s name. This was somewhere else entirely. 

He was familiar with the concept of different universes, and of time and how flexible (or inflexible) it could be. If he thought about it, it made a horrible sort of sense. He knew Thanos was coming, though he had hoped whatever he had planned was further off. If the Avengers could figure out a way to move through time, or between universes, it would be in their best interests to try and snatch up the Stones. If they used time, they would be at an even greater advantage for knowing where everyone and everything was going to be. 

These future? Alternate? Other? Avengers were the ones who had freed him. And now, wherever and whenever this was, they were fighting Thanos. 

His throat tightened and his heart beat loud and unsteady in his chest. The memories of his imprisonment and torture, of the way the Other had ripped it’s way into his mind on a simple word from Thanos dug into his temples like knives. His thoughts clouded, as though he were once again under the thrall of the Mind Stone, even though he knew whoever wielded the Stone now couldn’t possibly affect him. 

He had to find Tony again.

It was almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Monsters that had given Thanos their allegiance clashed with warriors desperate to drive back death, and the ground heaved and shattered with the impact. First bombs fell from the sky, then burning debris and ash heavy enough to choke on. Clouds of dust and smoke blotted out the sun. If it hadn’t been for the way the Mind Stone sang so hauntingly to him, he would have been lost. But he could never forget the energy that had bound him. It was like a beacon, leading him forward. 

When he finally broke though the thronging armies to the eye of the storm, where Thanos himself stood, he nearly screamed. 

Tony knelt on the battlefield, covered in soot and blood, back bowed but eyes burning brighter than ever before. On his left arm was the Iron Man gauntlet, and lodged in the indentations created just now by the nanites of the suit were the Stones. The gauntlet thrummed with energy, more energy than a human body could hold for long.

And then he snapped his fingers, and it was over. 

He paid no attention to the creatures turning to dust around him, or to the other Avengers and their allies, or even to shielding himself. All he could see was the way the energy of the Stones passed through Tony’s body, how his flesh burned and died and his organs failed and his eyes turned glassy with pain and the knowledge of impending death-

And then the vision ended, and he was once again standing in an empty room, on an empty floor of Stark Tower, holding the vial containing the now inert potion. No more smoke rose, and it was turning black as the magical reaction ended. A telltale whirring noise indicated that Stark’s invisible servant was scanning him for magical energy. 

* * *

This changed things.

A million little details swirled around in his head. Thanos was apparently coming sooner rather than later, and would not always be content to work through others. The Avengers had discovered Time Travel, or would in the future, and were able to meet the Mad Titan as equals. Tony’s face flashed through his mind, lined and tired and still so determined, holding the Stones and clearly knowing that they would kill him. 

He had never truly considered the implications of Tony’s mortality before this instant, but suddenly all he could think of was Tony aging, Tony dying, Tony  _ falling, _ Tony disappearing and leaving Loki forever. 

The idea of Tony’s still, silent body hurt, and he instinctively shied away from it. His mind would skitter away before forming a fully formed thought, only to circle compulsively back until he felt dizzy with dread. With a start he realized he’d already started cataloguing ways to trick his way out of this fate. 

There were spells that could extend a person’s youth. Creatures that could strengthen those who worked with them until not even a Stone could put their bodies out of commission. Potions that gave mortals the kind of extended life enjoyed by Asgardians. He ran over the requirements of each one, discarding it or saving it, trying to think of how to convince Tony to take it. 

A potion would be best, he decided. His relationship with Tony had started over the offer of a drink, after all. It would be fitting to offer him one in return. 

The words of a witch he’d met hundreds of years ago rumbled in the back of his mind-  _ do not seek to change the future to avoid something you see- _ but he brushed them away. He wasn’t avoiding it, per say. He wasn’t stopping Tony from fighting Thanos. He was simply ensuring he survived contact with the Stones. 

After all, he hadn’t  _ seen _ Tony die.

Besides, Tony hadn’t made him promise not to trick him, as other lovers had. He didn’t even have to know he was drinking anything special. A little illusion should cover the taste just fine.

There were preparations to make for himself, too, of course. He had been Thanos’ pawn once, and he didn’t intend to repeat the experience. But he would see to Tony first.

* * *

Eleven years later, Tony Stark snapped his fingers and waited to die.

And waited. And waited. 

But death did not come. 


End file.
